Would that I had understood
this truth before fleet youth deserted
feeble fingers, life that lingers
yet in aging bones.
“Good” is, yes, when blood sings,
when breath roars, when heart soars
high and flesh near disappears
in rush and tide and crashing waves on shore,
in good books, soft days, short walks,
idle talk, bland rays from a sun
neither blazing nor dull. These all
can fulfill. Would that I’d known.